La Sorcière
by LaLaDeeDum
Summary: Shrouded in mystery, Kalet's mother's abandonment has burdened her since childhood. When the only remnant left of her mother disappears, she is forced to visit the past her father had so desperately tried to leave behind.
1. The Tower

Rising from a flattened steppe, a decaying tower drew a long, final breath towards the dimming sky before collapsing into the persuasive gusts of wind that had tugged at it throughout the years. Its reverberating timber disturbed the long settled dust amassed on overgrown roads once well traversed. Only the faintest whisper of the ruin reached the creeping shadows of a town settling into the evening's embrace.

Swaddled in a burrow of coarse woolen blankets and worn, crudely sewn quilts, a slight child snuggled into her mother's cradling arms. Ears piqued for the anticipated bedtime story, she heard the far away rumble of stones crashing to the earth.

"Mother," she questioned "did you hear that?"

Stroking the girl's fine, flaxen hair, the mother tenderly replied, "Hush, child, that was only the ashes of a tale that needs to be forgotten."

Her cheek pressed against her mother's warm chest, she felt the gentle resonance of a low, melancholy humming. A caged ballad, eager to be let loose. Registering the curious gleam kindling her daughter's chestnut eyes, the mother allowed melodious lyrics to roll forth.

_Within the crown of lonely tow'r_

_Fair maiden with tresses gold_

_Looked o'er the unknown world below_

_Wond'rin could she be so bold _

_Fateful wander on unpaved roads_

_Trav'lers footprints in the sand_

_Desperate to flee the coming storm_

_A prince and his caravan_

_They stumbled on the ancient tow'r_

_Stories spoke of siren ghost _

_With nowhere left but up to go_

_Drew near the song of their host_

_A golden vine descended down_

_The prince climbed up his fate_

_The maiden helped as best she could_

_To bear some of his weight _

_They each met a curious gaze_

_Surprise written on their face_

_Souls intertwined in that moment _

_A passionate embrace_

The ballad trailed off in a gentle hum, as the woman felt her precious bundle's breaths deepen. Taking care not to tussle the little girl, she gingerly transferred the package of blankets and flaxen hair to the crib. Caressing her daughter's cheek, she delivered a final kiss goodbye and tucked the ragged quilt in snuggly around her petite body. Before turning to leave, she hesitantly placed an aged, leather bound book on the girl's nightstand before extinguishing the weary candle with a pinch of her calloused fingers.


	2. The Bookkeeper

Wrestling with a stack of dusty, decaying books, a budding young woman ambled over to a nearby table. Almost dropping the precariously constructed tower only a moment earlier, she eagerly plopped them down all at once. Strewing the fragile, bound stacks of paper over the tabletop in the process. Wary, but trusting, eyes darted at her from the other side of the room- cautioning her to tend to the books carefully and quietly. With an apologetic smile, she planted herself on the ragged old couch nearby. A sigh escaped her lips as she eyed the mountain of books before her. Reluctantly, she began searching through her collection. Her eyebrows furrowed as she struggled to decode the faded titles lining the bindings, engraved labels worn down from years of wear. In truth, she had relinquished hope of ever finding the book she needed when it had surprisingly disappeared from its position on the shelf it had held the last ten years. For the sake of tradition, she had collected all the books of similar size and binding.

Under normal circumstances, any old book provided her with sufficient entertainment. She rarely needed anything more than a fantastical world to escape to during the day whilst keeping company with her father and tending to their quaint cottage grounds. The significance of the day, however, prevented her from borrowing the first book that caught her fancy. Tradition declared she must return home with her treasured story in hand. She eyed the bookkeeper across the room in despair. Familiar with her plight, the rotund, greying man lumbered over to her position on the couch, ledger in hand. Grunting and groaning as his aging bones creaked, he folded into the seat next to her.

His normally gruff exterior melted into one of warmth and concern. He took note of her despairing expression, mussed flaxen hair, dark under-eye circles and concluded the memory of her mother must be weighing on her. They lived in a small town, people had noticed that her father left his home more and more infrequently as the years went by. Gossip had spread, rumoring her father's mental state had significantly declined- to the point of insanity. In truth, the bookkeeper did not care much for the gossip, but he felt the girl deserved a chance at a normal childhood. From observance, he noticed the amount of responsibility she carried and concluded the role of parent and child had long been reversed. As much as he wished to help, the girl and her father had refused all offers of aid since the disappearance of her mother. Despite everything, she visited his library at the same time every day with a finished book from the day before in hand. The bookkeeper felt proud that he could provide her with a small sliver of fantasy and the imaginary in what was left of her youth.

"Kalet, what is it you're looking for?" The bookkeeper pressed her. Knowing very well what she wanted, but trying as best he could to put off telling her more bad news. She had endeared herself to him, and he had no desire to burden her any more on what he knew was a trying day for her.

"Monsieur, you know very well what I am looking for. I-" She took a deep breath, as she realized the frustration in her voice was misdirected. "I- Well, my story- the one about about the girl with the golden hair- It doesn't seem to be in its usual spot on the shelf."

He looked away, contemplating how much information he should disclose to her. There was no way around it, he supposed. Only a week prior, the prince turned ten and eight. The usual celebratory events took place: parade, feast, and festivities. Few noticed the prince slip away some time during the night, he did not return despite the ongoing celebration. Within days, royal guards had burst into the bookstore. Collecting an assortment of ancient fairy tales- one of which was the book Kalet sought after. The guards had urged him to stay quiet about the raid; threatening his livelihood if he spread gossip about the event. Although he trusted Kalet, and knew her to be above the small town's unruly gossip- albeit, sometimes the cause of it- he did not want to drag her into any trouble with the palace.

Wracking his brain for an excuse, he spotted a name on his ledger. "Alfie- the kitchen boy at the palace. He borrowed the book when he was here earlier this week. I'm sure he'll have it back in a matter of time."

Satisfied with his excuse, he relaxed.

Kalet sensed something off about his demeanor, not wanting to push the older man, but somewhat suspicious, she pushed a little harder. "Perhaps he'll understand if I ask to borrow it from him? You know I need to read it. Do you have an idea of where I might find him today?"

She had seen Alfie, the kitchen boy, running errands in the marketplace earlier in the week- the day after Prince birthday, in fact. His tousled, dishwater locks bobbed through the crowds of people- a small, wiry frame making it easy to dodge around the masses of people doing their weekly shopping. She had never carried a conversation with the young boy before, but recognized him from the few times he had been browsing the bookstore at the same time as her. Somewhat doubtful that he was old enough to actually read the book, she failed to mask the incredulous expression sneaking its way over her face.

The bookkeeper nodded in consent- nervous his little fib might be found out. He considered misleading her, but Alfie may not even be on palace grounds. She would know he deceived her if he misguided her. Praying she would not run into Alfie, he suggested Kalet visit the palace kitchen, through the servant's quarters, of course. Again, he insisted the book was likely to be returned soon. Kalet shook her head at his insistence, she could not abide waiting a few days for the book. It saved her from the undertow of bitterness, threatening to drag her to depths of anger she did not care to experience on the anniversary of her mother's abandonment. She was desperate to find it, and return to her father before supper to read the story. After her visit with the bookkeeper, she fully intended to track the book down.

When her mother had left suddenly ten years ago, it nearly destroyed her father. Some would argue that it did. Kalet had always thought her father a gentle man, soft and considerate. He never raised his voice at her or her mother, but when he woke up and found his wife missing that dreadful day, he dissolved into a fit of rage. Kalet had never seen a man cry until that day- he had the most sorrowful cry, filled with pain and confusion. To this day, she could sometimes hear it ringing in her ears. He blamed her for the disappearance of her mother, but Kalet's young ears did not understand. After the episode, he retreated to his study for a period of weeks, taking with him the note her mother had left. Not even coming out to eat or sleep. She did not visit him, she never wanted to. Young Kalet understood her father's reaction, she also only wanted to be left alone. She wept and prayed for her mother's safe return. It took a long time before she accepted her mother's abandonment, the lack of goodbye and explanation plagued her. It gave her a false hope, that had been unfair of her mother to leave her young heart with.

When her father emerged a month later- thinner and sick in the head- he gathered the remnants of her mother's presence in their home and set to burning them. Perhaps this action ignited the rumors of her father's insanity as the bonfire was easily visible from the town square. Kalet had watched as her father hurled in every quilt her mother had sewn, the bookcase he had built her- for she was always buying new books, her dresses and apron, the dried flowers she saved from their wedding, and everything her fingers had ever grazed, it seemed to Kalet. When all had been burned in the furious blaze, he held her mother's final note in his shaking hand. "Papa, no!" she had managed to squeak before he tossed the precious last words her mother had written into the fire. Her little fingers turned white as she clutched the book she had discovered on her nightstand the morning after her mother had left. It was written in her mother's scrawling cursive, the story of a golden-haired maiden trapped in a tower. She had left before teaching her to read, Kalet thought bitterly. Her father's eyes had turned towards her then, she expected to see fury, or perhaps sadness; but the empty void staring at her caught her by surprise. Still, she had pleaded.

"No, papa" Kalet remembered herself begging. Unfelt tears had streamed down her face. "Please, don't"

He had drawn near to her then, the void still present; but he had registered his daughter's desperate cry. His heart won out, where his mind was lost. Her papa knelt down then, but she had shrunk back. Taking her by the hand he pulled her into his broad chest in a mighty hug. Kalet had been so confused, she thought he was angry with her, but he held her instead. Tears beginning to breach his eyes also, "I can't look at you, Kalet." he whispered, "Just like I can't bear to read that book."

She pulled back, her six year old brain again not comprehending. He stroked her hair between his fingers, muttering to himself about golden hair and chestnut eyes. "We'll donate it to the bookstore." His voice, stronger than before declared. "The bookkeeper will help you read it."

Shaking her head as if she could erase the memory, Kalet's attention returned to the bookkeeper. Worry evident on his face, it seemed as if he knew her thoughts. She forced a pitiful smile that barely made it halfway to her eyes, preparing to say farewell.

"Go home, Kalet. The book will do you no good today- your father needs you." The bookkeeper pushed one last time. "I will bring the book to you once it has been returned".

Kalet's flaxen strands escaped from her bun as she vigorously shook her head no. "I will go find Alfie, I'm certain he will understand- just this once."

After wishing the bookkeeper a final goodbye and promising her return on the morrow. Kalet made her way out of the bookstore's doors and down the cobbled street towards the market, hoping someone had seen Alfie in town that day. She felt the bookkeeper's anxious gaze on her back as she had turned away, his bearing had changed from one of concern into one of uneasiness as she refused to give up her search. So lost in the turbulence of her mind as she wondered about his unsettling reaction was she that she did not notice the monstrous black horse and its rider trotting down the narrow street until it was too late.


	3. The Stranger

Startled from her thoughts, Kalet stumbled back in surprise as the horse and its rider came to a halt. Wobbling as she tried to find her balance, she found herself face to face with a pair of flared nostrils, glistening eyes, and peaked ears. The beast's humid breath warmed her face, the putrid stench of rotting food stuck between its teeth wafted into her eyes, producing acidic, stinging tears. The size of the ebony horse petrified her. She noted that if she ever rode such a horse, she would need a catapult to mount it. In fact, to her it seemed as if the rider sat so high, his head reached above the atmosphere, she imagined he must struggle to breath.

With some effort, the rider had dismounted his steed and landed with a thud on the cobblestone street. Kalet observed him, musing she had never seen a man and a horse so alike in air and aura. Standing three heads taller than herself- she could hardly make out the thick, black hair greased away from his forehead and calculating expression masking his face. From her viewpoint, only five feet from the ground, the deep furrow splitting his jutting chin and prominent jaw stood out to her. Although she did not have the stature to look him in the eye, she could feel him appraising her as though she were one of the prized livestock displayed at the town's fair every summer. Self-conscious, she eased back- feeling as spooked and antsy as the beast that danced across the pavement anchored only by its rider's hold on its rains.

A chill crept down her backbone as the silence pushed on. Long since past the point of a familiarizing glance, the gaze had morphed into an appreciative and leering stare. She feared his words would match his expression as she hesitated to engage him. Her surroundings did not offer much by way of security; primarily townspeople residences. Quiet little cottages, abandoned by their residents on market day. Mayhap some of them still housed their elderly, she thought, then conceded as she realized the sun was at its peak: nap time, their own snores would be like cotton in their old, deafening ears. Toeing the cobbled path, she admitted defeat and raised her chin.

"Pardon, sir. I was in such a rush to meet my father at the market- I didn't see you there. I pray you'll forgive me." She spoke, her voice as strong as she could make it. The smirk that snaked over his face discomforted her. Taking his time to respond, he took a final appraisal of her.

"I shall let it go." His foreign voice surprised her. Deep, yet exotic. Another strangely unsettling aspect of the character before her. "Such a pretty little thing- it would have been a shame to see you trampled."

"Perhaps not such a shame- it would have saved me a great deal of embarrassment." She blushed, releasing a scoffing laugh at her own joke. His head cocked to the side, eyes narrowing slightly- a new glint illuminating them.

"A pretty thing, indeed." He murmured quietly, barely decipherable. Clearing his throat, he reached out to offer his arm. "Would you allow me to escort you to the market? Please, do allow me the excuse to keep your company a moment longer."

Kalet felt her blush deepen. Old enough to attract the attention of a man, but too young to be acquainted with many, she had yet to experience the discomfort of a forward comment. She pushed the escaped strands of hair away from her face and ducked her chin, pausing to consider her reply.

"Truly, there is no need. I would hate to explain the story of our encounter to my father. Imagine what he would say, should he hear I have begun throwing myself at horses?" With a small grin, she peered up at him. Nervously smoothing her dress and patting her bun, unwittingly attempting to hide the evidence of their disconcerting encounter. In good humor, the foreign man allowed her the courtesy of a laugh as he dropped his offered arm.

"I see. Well then, simply your name will do."

"Of course," she hid her sigh of relief with a small curtsy. "Kalet, pleased to meet you, sir."

He gave a slight bow and moved to the side of his steed, mounting in a surprisingly graceful movement. Kalet's neck ached as she craned her head back to see the rider's face. "Good day, Kalet. I pray we meet again soon."

Again, his eyes betrayed his interest. Mischief or schemes, whichever it may be, seemed to consume his mind. Unsettled, she half-heartedly wished him farewell. Watching as he pushed his mount into motion with a click of his tongue and the slight pressure of his calves, she refrained from moving until he had ridden well down the cobbled street.

It only took moments for her to realize that it would not be long before he realized her lie. The townspeople were not known for their discretion, strangers often privy to idle gossip. Especially of the mysterious sort. He would simply have to let her name slip, and they would quickly recite their speculations. Kalet's father had not visited town, much less the market, since the disappearance of her mother. His weakening grip on reality made him prone to paranoia and a certain incredulity that thrived in social situations. Once the panic gripped him, she had no way of hiding his behavior, or his deteriorating state of mind. It had only taken a few occurrences of such an event to fuel the already blazing fires of gossip surrounding her family.

Very well, she thought as she continued her stroll, her strange, new acquaintance likely had more important things to concern himself with. His crested sword, fine steed, and garb revealed his societal station. Lords and Ladies from the surrounding territories had passed through the town for days, making their way to the prince's birthday celebration. Nearly all of them had departed in a rush, the morning after the feast. He may have lingered behind, visiting the town before the long journey home. Whatever the circumstances, she doubted she would encounter him again. Although, his parting words, though a common farewell- sounded far more intentional, if not foreboding, than she cared to admit.

It occurred to her that his attentions were not without their merits. Permitting herself the recompense of a daydream, she imagined leaving her current life behind her and running away with the foreign lord to the exotic lands she had read about only in her books. Despite his lack of warmth, he seemed charming enough. Trading love for an adventure, or an escape appealed to her.

Shaking her head, she smiled at her own silly thoughts. Handsome, charming, or otherwise, he had left her imbalanced. More than likely, he had paid the same compliment to many other women before herself and her young brain had exaggerated it in the excitement of the moment. She dared not condemn him based on their first encounter, her instincts likely swayed by the adrenaline pumping through her veins after her near trampling. Perchance, she considered, the adrenaline still affected her, based on her whirling, unwieldy mind.

Resolved to put the strange man out of her consideration, she focused back on her nearly forgotten mission. Her distracted deliberation had led the time to pass by quicker, and she found herself closer to the market than she had realized. Long before it came into sight, she began to smell the pungent odors of fresh cheeses, seafood, and baked goods. The ill-suited coagulation of aromatic breads combined with the sour, fermented smells made her stomach roil. It only worsened as she neared, urine baked in the hot sun onto the hidden cobblestone street corners wafted over her. Despite the stench, she enjoyed the colors and watching the townspeople hustling around their business. Admittedly, the sweet, fragrant florals helped to overwhelm the more acrid odors of the market, making the experience markedly more bearable.

Skimming through the aisles of booths displaying everything from lifeless fish to bright tulips and homemade berry jams, she asked various booth owners and bystanders whether they had seen the wiry boy errand boy with the messy curls. With some surprise, all of them noted that no- they had not seen him since last market day. Even if he had come to town that day, there was a slim chance she could spot him through the bustling crowd anyway. Her only other option required her to make the long trek to the castle.

Preparing herself to give up her search, she gathered a few groceries for supper. Cheese, a fresh loaf of bread, and a small bouquet of flowers to brighten up her empty home. She rarely could afford such luxuries, as her father brought in very little money. Their livelihood relied on a few sound investments he had made in the past, and her ability to sell his barely functional inventions. Fortunately, she had pawned off his most recent inventions on one of their neighbors. Cringing as she remembered showcasing the item to her neighbors, knowing they likely purchased it out of pity rather than interest. The multipurpose tool had inflicted various stinging nicks on her fingers as her father had failed to correct the spring system that prevented the knives and corkscrews from falling back into their sheath. During her sales pitch, she had warned any potential buyers not to allow their children near the tool; or better yet, she scoffed, they best leave it alone entirely.

Holding her flowers to her nose as she prepared to leave the market, she concluded the venture had paid off. Having a little extra spending money to treat herself to such luxuries drastically improved her mood, which she desperately needed on that particular day. Already she felt her desperation to find her mother's book waning, as she planned to spend the evening with her father and make a trip to the castle on the morrow.


	4. The Cottage

"Papa, I'm home" Kalet shouted, knocking on the wood of her entryway. Wiping her slippers off on the colorful braided rug- an accomplishment she had prided herself in at the time as the scraps of fabric from her childhood dresses brought some whimsy into the bland entryway, she heard her father's shuffling footsteps nearing. His wrinkled face, weathered by years of heartbreak, greeted her with a grin.

"In his younger years, he had been considered a handsome man. He had not believed it himself until he caught the eye of his "late" wife. After she left, he realized she may have married him for his gentle demeanor, an unusual trait rare to the men of his time. His face had a soft structure to it, his eyes a warm brown that revealed every thought and emotion that ran through his head. Kalet had inherited his eyes, as well as her petite frame from him. Their small family had a slight stature, the brawny farming families surrounding them all stood at least a head taller. Well-learned, if not scholarly, he always had struck people as odd. People whispered about that "lofty, quiet Emil", whispers that had in no way died down in recent years. His own love of reading and education he had also, unfortunately, passed onto his daughter- cursing her with the same puzzling behavior that had set him apart from the town.

"Kalet! Why, it's so good to see you. My, how you have grown!" He gripped her shoulders, pecking her cheeks and pulling her into a tight hug. "You must come visit more often. I swear you were a foot shorter the last time- such a lovely young lady, you've turned out to be. Do come in, come in."

His smile, broad as daylight, warmed her heart. Of course, she had only seen him hours before, but he often lost track of time, or, in this case, reality. On the rare occasion that he was fully coherent, she received no such affection from him. When his mind cleared, he spent his time locked away in his study, as if transported back to the day his wife abandoned them. Moments like this, she savoured. Cherishing the return of her loving, good-natured father.

"Oh, thank you, Papa, it's so good to see you as well! I've brought us a fresh loaf of bread from the market and some cheese to share. I thought, perhaps, you would like to have a bite with me?" Kalet spoke gently to him, beckoning at her basket.

Wholeheartedly accepting her offer and waving her towards the dining room, he sputtered around as he made his way there: peeking in her wicker basket, humming around the kitchen, brushing some nonexistent dust off the window sill. Collecting a knife and wooden board, she sat down at the oak table. While her father continued to hum around absently, she settled onto the worn, rickety bench and laid out her basket's contents. By the time she had finished, he had wandered off in a daze. Accustomed to his mindless antics, she went to collect him, and herd him once again towards their meal.

She found him pacing around his study, skimming the bookshelves and the bindings lining them. More than likely, he had spent all day occupied this way: searching for something he may never find. Maybe looking for the book he had so brashly sold, she thought bitterly. Introducing her presence with a knock, so as not to startle him, she reminded him of their pending dinner. Disorientedly emerging from his stupor, he allowed her take his hand and lead him back to the table.

Kalet watched him as they ate their meal. His cognitive decline had increased substantially in more recent years; perhaps as a result of her lessening need for him. Although he frequently had bouts of madness during her childhood, he managed to tend to her until she learned to care for herself. Staring quietly as he picked apart his bread, Kalet wondered what went through his head when he began to lose himself. To her, he seemed blank, his muddy eyes empty and fixated on a point. She knew he must have something ruminating about his mind. Perhaps he dreamed of his next invention, or of her mother. Whatever the progress in his mental illness, he seemed happier and more content; albeit, a little lost. Occasionally, he spoke of her mother- lamenting her absence, praising her beauty, or forgetting she had left altogether. Kalet did not mind; she preferred his current attitude over the raging fits he formerly went into at the mention of his wife.

Breaking the silence, she questioned him on the activity of his day and his welfare. When he did not reply, she attributed it to his condition and went back nibbling on her cheese wedge. It surprised her when what seemed like minutes later, he spoke up.

"Quite alright, I suppose." His calloused, dry fingers drummed on the table for a moment. "I'm concerned about your mother, Kalet"

Startled, she murmured a brief, inquisitive acknowledgement.

"Perhaps- perhaps, you've seen it." He muttered for a moment, gathering his thoughts, "Frantic with worry, I'm sure."

"Papa, I'm afraid I don't understand." Confused, Kalet prodded him further. The gears in his formerly empty eyes churned in an effort to form his thoughts. For a moment, she thought he may lose himself again.

"She can't find her journal. Anywhere, I'm afraid!" This came as a great surprise to Kalet. Her eyes widened. Her papa went on, "It's just that- well- what if someone found it? Very concerning."

Trying to make sense of his disjointed thoughts, she gathered he had indeed been looking for her book. He had imagined her mother's presence before, but he had never requested her journal. She raised an eyebrow, trying to discern his state of mind.

"Did she set it down in the work shed, somewhere? I'm certain I noticed it lying about." He would set out to find it, but likely forget the whole scenario before he gave up.

"Kalet, this is no joke." Her papa's face turned serious. Looking more parental by the moment, his tone deepened. "You know very well your mother never goes in my shed. Besides, I checked there."

"Of course, papa." Struggling to appear serious about the matter at hand, she pushed him further. "Well, could she have dropped it on your afternoon stroll?"

His face lit up. "Oh yes, yes! I'm certain of it."

With a sigh, she reassured him she planned to search for it after dinner. His mind at ease, they continued in small talk for a while longer. Not entirely delirious, he managed to discuss topics he found comfortable. Easy, casual conversation- "safe" words- that he frequently used when making a new acquaintance. Although somewhat tiresome, as they had the same conversation what seemed like a hundred times to Kalet before they finished. She found herself appreciative of his interest in her day and his sweet company.

Once they had their fill of cheese and bread, she urged him off to bed. Still somewhat anxious about her mother's missing journal, she reassured him repeatedly that she intended to scour the grounds that very night. The sun had yet to set, but she found him more amicable after a long night's sleep. Fortunately, he had little awareness of time and dared not to question the sunlight for fear of sounding as though he had lost his mind. Ironic, she thought.

Holed away in his room for the night, Kalet entered her father's study. She flipped through the papers on his desk- indecipherable to her. Lines, measurements, and calculations hastily scribbled as the ideas occurred to him, catching them before they slipped away. Many of the things he came up with had already been invented. Irrigation systems, wheeled ploughs, pronged forks; all things he noticed throughout his day- on walks, or wandering through the house- that struck him as an idea. Occasionally, he had an original idea. In such cases, she urged him to build models for her. It amazed her that in his delirium, he still managed to piece together some impressive designs. Except, of course when he forgets to add springs, she scoffed- remembering the incident with the knife once again.

Picking out a book from the packed shelves about botanical medicines, she settled into the worn-in settee and opened the book to her marked page. Not her usual choice of genre, but interesting due to its relevance. Curious about the healing benefits of the ancient Maidenhair tree and its effects on the brain, she imagined finding a cure for her father's condition. Mostly, she found it a suitable distraction from the day's troubling events. It only took a few sentences before she had lulled off to a fitful sleep.


	5. The Visitor

A persistent knocking invaded Kalet's dreams, disturbing her weary slumber. Blearily she awoke, more aware of the painful tightness in her neck than the ongoing pounding at the front door. It took her some time to process her surroundings: a dripping candle melted down to a hollow shell on the stool, her book clumsily knocked onto the floor, but mostly the thick cloud of darkness still outside the window. She patted the nest of hair that had matted itself against a cushion and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. Still, the oddness of her situation did not set in. They so rarely had visitors, she thought the knocking made more sense in the context of her dream than in her waking. As the aggravating sound faded and silenced, she felt her suspicions confirmed. Until it began again, only this time closer and accompanied by a shadow in the window.

Fear set in as she considered the distance of the nearest farm. There was little chance she could yell loud enough to raise an alarm; much less, have help arrive in time should anything happen. She struggled to imagine a good reason for such a visit other than burglary or, perhaps, a messenger. Garnering whatever courage she could, and comforted that a villain would never knock, she started toward the entryway with what remained of her pitiful candle.

Finding the nearest weapon- the dirty cheese knife they used for dinner- she gripped it in her hand as she cracked the heavy door open. The latch, which she was certain she had locked earlier in the evening, was already undone. If he had tried, the late night visitor could have easily pushed his way into the house. Reassured, Kalet peeked through the crack between the door and its frame.

Before her eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting, she heard a familiar mumbling. With a sigh, she opened the door wide.

"Oh, papa" She reached toward his form, looking past the figure standing at his side. Finding her father's feeble hand, she gently tugged him inside.

Hovering her candle over his form, she patted him down to be sure of his welfare. She breathed a sigh of relief at the lack of abnormalities or injury. He appeared as she had left him; minus the bed and snoring. Confusion evident in his eyes, she thought he must be coming out of a dream. She had, in the past, heard him scuffling about their small cottage in the night. What she had always dismissed as harmless sleepwalking in the past, now seemed like a more dire issue.

A soft release of breath from the stranger at her father's side brought her back to the present moment. Her attention turned toward the shadowed man. The full moon provided her barely enough light to make out his features. She stayed silent a moment too long, allowing a wary awkwardness to descend on any potential conversation. Her hesitance faded as she noticed the youthful openness on his face. He had a prominent brow overshadowing eager, expressive eyes. His mouth seemed to rest in a half smile. She wished she could see him in the daylight, the dark of the night combined with his tall gangly form made it difficult to judge the color of his eyes or hair. Whatever semblance of danger she may have felt faded away. This endearing young man could hardly be much older than herself.

"Would you mind waiting there a moment? I must help Papa to his bed." He seemed to nod his head in consent before she tugged her papa back towards his bedroom. It only took moments for him to settle back into bed. Any inquiries she made regarding his late night venture went unanswered, met only by blank stares and a garbled murmuring. Mindful of the man waiting at the front door, she allowed him his peace for the night. She could press him for further answers in the morning.

Regretting the decision to leave her papa with the nearly extinguished candle, she shuffled back towards the entryway- wary of any out of place obstacles. Her father had a tendency to make a mess when he walked in his sleep. She halted before she became visible to the stranger again. Allowing herself a moment to breathe and calm her nerves. The young man heard her pause and offered up an explanation before she had the opportunity to ask.

"I, uh" his voice cracked, revealing his own anxiety about the situation, "bumped into him at the old ruins. Or, well, not bumped into him… heard him?"

Kalet raised an eyebrow in surprise. Her father had wandered a long distance in the middle of the night. It was a miracle he returned unscathed. She wondered what had drawn him to the ruins. In her childhood, they were a frequent topic of conversation. Her mother had put them in her story- only one of many fanciful tales the townsfolk had dreamed up in an effort to explain the mysterious site.

"Huh, it's a wonder that you happened to be out that way. Last I heard, no one ventures out there these days. Something about ghosts, or perhaps it was monsters." She smiled at him as his eyes widened in terror… or some other indecipherable emotion. "I'm only kidding, of course. Thank you, truly, for returning him home safely. However did you know where to bring him?"

His posture relaxed as he returned her smile. Kalet noticed he had a lovely grin: just the right amount of straight teeth and little crinkles appearing at the corner of his eyes. Who is he, she wondered, unable to place his face anywhere.

"Well, he seemed to know his way home alright. I only trailed him from the ruins in case he encountered any trouble." The young man paused a moment, as if working up to something. "If you don't mind me asking, are you here alone? Forgive me, but your… father, doesn't seem entirely present."

Normally, a question like this would heighten her worry. She was painfully aware that her situation with her father was unusual; if not downright unsafe. Yet, she had the lingering feeling she could trust this smiling, gangly stranger.

"Yes, I know it's a bit unusual, but we do alright. He has never done anything quite like this before." His disbelief seemed evident as he gave a clearly unconvinced nod of consent. "No, truly, we rarely have any problems!", Kalet exclaimed. His sardonic expression did not alter. "What do you suppose we do, then? We only have the two of us."

"Perhaps I'm being unfair…" His expression softened again. "Your situation is downright concerning to me. You're just so small." He applied emphasis to the observation regarding her stature, as his nose and eyes crinkled humorously.

"What!? Why, we only just met!", she said. Without a moment's hesitation he fired back, "Well, it doesn't take more than a moment's acquaintance to notice your size." Kalet's jaw dropped- the audacity! His grin widening, he conceded, "Where are my manners? My mother would be ashamed. My name is Sss...", a visible hesitation, "Sage".

Before she could stop herself, she released a chuckle. "Like the herb? Perhaps you're familiar with my dear friend, Basil… He stays in our pantry." He smirked. "Oh, Ha Ha, very funny. It's far too late for such jokes. What's your name, anyways?"

"Parsley." She coughed as she tried to hold in more giggles. He shook his head. The moon provided just enough light to see the twinkle in his eye. "Seriously, now."

"Oh, very well, it's Kalet." Gazing intently at her, he repeated her name. His smirk returned, "Better than Sage, I'd say."

Another giggle disguised as a cough escaped her, "I daresay the lack of sleep is making me loopy. I best follow papa's example and return to bed." With some quickening of her heart, she noticed a drop in his demeanor. She thought it could be a trick of the light, but he certainly seemed disappointed. "May I expect to see you in town?"

A series of emotion played across his face. He seemed conflicted, but also pleased she expressed interest in seeing him again. "I don't spend much time in town, you see; but, perhaps on market day?"

"Yes, I'll look for you." Uncharacteristically, she offered him a wink which had the desired effect on his face as it lit up with another brilliant grin and slight reddening of the cheeks.

Clutching his hands to his chest and feigning a swoon as though he were a fine, courtly lady. He spun his long legs one over the other with surprising grace and made for the road. Turning around for a brief exclamation of, "Farewell, Kalet!"

"Farewell… Sage" She whispered. Any thoughts of her unusually exciting day overcome by a foreign fluttering of her stomach.


	6. The Intruder

"Don't be stupid. Your life may as well be over." Murmured the long, gangling form as it trampled through the woods. His scold seemed to reach no ears but his own. Still, he pressed on, determined to prove some type of point to his invisible opponent. "You heard what the witch said… There's no fix. No hope."

He released a deep sigh that seemed to resonate through the forest. Longing, loss, hopelessness: a strange mixture of emotions coagulating into something more foreign and dangerous. Rage, fury, an overwhelming anger he had rarely been acquainted with in his good-natured existence. Before he could stop himself, his fist flew at the nearest tree in an attempt to expel the vile emotions boiling inside of him. He scoffed; he felt wretched, and now his fist felt wretched too.

The injustice of his situation stung. All his life, he had been kind and done his best to fulfill his parent's wishes. His own desires were simple: to love and be loved, maybe have a few kids. Life, altogether, was fairly uncomplicated to him. It came easy, and he was content in the mundane. Not once had he asked for anything out of the ordinary or wished for a grand adventure. Now, he slowly felt everything being ripped away from him. The time he had left was just that (time he had left). Every waking moment he could feel the seconds ticking away until his inevitable end. It hadn't fully set in until this moment, as he walked away from the loveliest thing he had ever seen.

He could have helped her, but now there was no time. Better yet, he thought, he could have swept her off her feet. Again, there was no time. He would have given everything just for the opportunity to fight with his parents about whether or not she was a suitable bride. That would have been more than enough adventure to last a lifetime.

The shadowed figure winced, his hand throbbing in pain. His mother would once again remind him that the curse was no excuse for recklessness. "There's still hope", she would say. He could imagine her tone and the pitying glint in her eyes. But there wasn't, he was resigned to his fate. As was his father, because he understood the gravity of the witch's revenge. The searing pain and anger coursing through him made it difficult to breath.

He hadn't spoken to his father since learning of the curse. If he did, he feared his father may not survive the encounter unscathed. It was his father's mistakes that he paid for with his future, and his father's mistakes that would put an end to his dreams. Worse yet, his father showed no remorse. "If I had not done what I did, then you would not be here!" he would bellow. True and fair; however, he would have preferred to not exist if it came at the price of others' suffering.

Whatever his father said, the young man could not relate. His mother had imparted dignity and goodness to him, he prided himself in his kindness. Unfortunately, it was kindness that could not be spared for his father.

The night went on and the forest continued to be disturbed by the lumbering intruder. Mumbling and rubbing his fist until the sun began to makes its way through the tall trees, he finally made his way home with red-rimmed eyes and a greasy mess of copper hair.


End file.
